Misanthropic Beginnings
by ShayRAMONE
Summary: A teenage Gregory House learns to deal with all of the changes that he has grown somewhat used to during his fifteen or so years of life.
1. France

Alone again. But surprise. A teenage boy around the age of fifteen sat on the edge of his bed, his bright blue eyes blazing, staring daggers at the door which had, once again, been slammed and lock from the outside. He had been told just seconds ago that he was not to have dinner tonight, and that he wasn't to leave the room he was currently in except to go to school or to the bathroom, which he had to ask permission to do. 'I don't care. I'll piss out the window.' the teen thought to himself, and he and everyone that knew him knew that he would if he felt like it. He did what he wanted, and didn't really care what other people told him to do. Why should he listen to someone who doesn't know any more than him? He would rather learn for himself why he shouldn't do something instead of begin told. If you were just told, a lot of times you doesn't believe it. You have to know for yourself.

Once it seemed that it was impossible to win a staring contest against the door, the blue pools were averted and began to wander around the room. His guitar that had been sitting in the corner opposite of his room had been knocked over, one of the speakers from his stereo had fallen to the ground off of the nail that it had been hanging on, and the room looked like a tornado had railed its way though it; not that it had been much cleaner before the yelling fight, though. With a sigh the boy got up, ready to clean up the disaster that he was so used to seeing by the fifteenth year of his life. But first he lifted up his mattress where one of his greatest possessions was always kept; right between the box spring and the actual mattress. It was an extremely high powered magnet that his uncle, who was quite funny, had gotten him when he was younger, seeing as he had always had an interest in science. He walked over to the door that had a metal sliding lock on the outside and pressed the magnet to it. He pulled the magnet, still on the door, to his left until he heard the little click so that he knew it was officially unlocked.

He tossed the magnet back down on his bed and looked around the room once more before starting the cleaning process. He started with the speaker first so he could listen to a bit of music while he cleaned up. There were a few wires that had been sticking out of the side and the side was coming off. He could fix that easily. He went under his bed and took out a tool set he had gotten from the garbage, his dad was going to throw it out, and he thought that he could make use of it, which he did. It took him less than five minutes and a bit of ductape to fix. Now for the music.

His dad had taken his, quite impressive, CD collection from him before storming out, but the boy knew exactly where he would keep it. Same place he had kept things since the day he had been born. Under his bed, right where his son did. The teen brought a screwdriver with him and made his way to his parent's room which was always kept locked. Again, it took him less than five minutes to take off the door handle so he could push it open freely. He just grabbed a few of his favorite CDs out of the case before shoving it back where it had been before. His dad wouldn't look inside to see if any were missing, but he knew that he could notice if the case wasn't where he had left it. He had learned these things over the years.

On his way back to his room, he thought about how much time he would have before the real Hell would begin. It normally took between an hour and an hour and a half for the couple to eat, which they were doing now, and possibly even longer, depending on what kind of things they had to talk about. Well, seeing as his mother was extremely upset when they had left because his father had freaked out, it had always scared his mom more than it did him, there would be a bit of cheering up needed. He had at least an hour and a half. He was good.

Once in there he placed The Sex Pistols' CD in. Revolution In The Classroom began to play through the tattered speakers. Perfect. With that, he began to clean, taking his time because he knew that his parents wouldn't be home for a while and he didn't want to rush and do a terrible job. His dad would be even more pissed then.

Now, you may ask, what could a kid of fifteen do to piss his father off so bad? School trouble, like it always seemed to be with this specific teen. He had been caught skipping his band class, a class he hated to go to, because the music they played sucked. The teacher seemed to think that they weren't ready to play any Bach, Brahms, Elgar, or anything that was actually good. No. They played things written by amatures. He could make it up and do better than the crap that was written down, which he did quite often. But not only was he skipping class, he had been caught making out with a girl. When his father had asked him if he even knew her name, he had just shrugged like it was no big deal and replied 'I don't know. I've only been in France for a little over a month. I haven't learned their language yet,' which was a complete lie. He could speak it almost fluently already. After being moved around to all different countries with all different languages, he knew how to pick things up, and fast. They practically had the boy's number on speed dial already, and he had only been there for about a month. He didn't mind. At least he wouldn't have to recite it all the time like he had had to in other places. These French were some smart people.

But it wasn't only that that had really angered the older man. It was his son's attitude with the whole thing, and everything, really. He was sick of his smart mouth, his don't-give-a-shit attitude, and the fact that he never put all of his effort into everything. He thought it was disrespectful when his son mouthed off like he did, and he had on occasion, smacked him in the mouth for it. He had completely gone cra-

The boy stopped cleaning instantly when he heard the door open. He hadn't heard the car coming, which he almost always did. "Shit!" He yelled out loud, hurrying to put everything back right, even though he knew it was too late. His door was wide open and there was no way of getting out of this one.

"Gregory!" John House bellowed through the house, ready to strangle his son.


	2. Out Of Here

**A/N: **Sorry it took so long for an update, guys. I couldn't think of anywhere to take this story. And I know that some of it is AU. Please bare with me on this. : I hope this was worth the wait. Review and tell me what you think about it.

* * *

Grounded again. But for much longer this time. Not that it was a record or anything. Three months. He was to stay in his room unless, again, he was going to the bathroom. Under no circumstance was he allowed to talk on the phone or watch television. His food was to be brought to him in his room, and all entertainment sources besides books had been taken out of his room and locked in the garage. Oh, fun. Luckily he had a very impressive collection of novels in his room ranging from medical mysteries to complete fantasy.

Greg's door had been slammed and locked about two hours ago, and the teen was now pacing around his room. He knew that his father, he refused to call that man 'dad,' even in his own thoughts, was being transfered soon. Within a month, possibly. You see, John House was a military man who was always moving his family. That was why the House family was in France at the current moment. He knew that the punishment would carry over, there was no doubt about that, but it was possible that he could claim that he needed to see where the teachers were in their teaching, learn some new stuff, and possibly even learn the layout of the school after it was over. Once they moved, of course.

They were going to the United States this time. New Jersey, to be exact. Greg had been there quite a few times and it was easily his favorite of all the countries he had been to. It was better to live in, in his opinion. Both of his parents had been born and raised in America. He, on the other hand, had been born in Italy, though he wasn't one bit Italian. The family had moved four months later.

**------------**

House had been right when he had guessed about a month until the move. How did he celebrate his last day at his French school? He had skipped the whole day, without being caught, and gone to sit by a deserted lake, just thinking; clearing his head. He had walked home lone, as he always did, to find the few things in his room had been packed up. That was the first time in quite a while that the boy had been welcome to join his parents for dinner, which was take out. They were on a plane that night for New Jersey.

Greg had 'somehow' managed to be about five rows away from his parents on the plane. Actually, he had found someone who was on the same flight as he was who was traveling alone and asked to switch tickets. They had agreed easily enough, not really asking any questions. Even though John had been pissed, he had chosen to let the subject slide for once in his life.

Greg took his seat, finally glad to be out from under the hawk-like eyes of his father. He asked the flight attendant for coke, and he was given a glass bottle. He took a drink, not really paying attention to who was sitting next to him. The seats were three wide, two isles of them. He was currently seated in the middle, and there was no one to the right of him. This being so, he scooted himself over a seat, the middle seat left open for more spare space for both passengers in the row.

When the 'fasten seatbelts' signal came on, Greg took his first real observant look at his surroundings. He had been expecting someone much older to be sitting next to him. Most of the time when he traveled to different countries and was in a different row than his parents, or just on the other isle, he was always next to someone who was at least thirty five years old. To his surprise, it was somebody very close to his own age. The boy had somewhat short, brown hair that fell a little passed his eyebrows, which were a tad thick. He was reading a pretty large book, which Greg saw was on a medical topic. "Cancer? We're on an extremely long plane ride, and you brought a book on cancer?" House questioned the boy he didn't know. It may have sounded a bit harsh, but that was the way Greg House was.

The boy looked up, looking into his bright blue orbs with his own brown ones. He gave him a look that showed he really hadn't noticed him before, and then his glance moved downward. "My mother recently died from it, and I'm looking into it for a career, possibly. Or at least something medical related." He explained, not making eye contact with Greg. House kind of felt bad for bring it up now, but he didn't show it. He had learned long ago to hide his emotions when it came to other people.

Half an hour into the trip the boy had put the book down and began humming a tin. A tune that House himself recognized. "It don't mean a thing..." House muttered under his breath alone with the humming. The boy turned his head to look at him, clearly surprised. Most teens their age only knew of songs by The Rolling Stones or Jimi Hendrix. It was rare to find someone who knew any swing tunes. House listened to all kinds of music, though. Pretty much anything he could get his hands on, he would listen to it. Music had been his escape many times while sitting in his room.

"I'm James." the boy introduced himself, deciding that it would be a much more enjoyable plane ride if there was someone to talk to, even if the guy could have been something of a jerk, it seemed. James had been around jerks quite a few times, and had learned to deal with them.

Greg looked the kid over, as if deciding whether he should tell this James his name or not. "Jimmy it is. The name's Greg..."


End file.
